


Helpless In Your Arms

by Living_On_My_Own



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Casual Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_On_My_Own/pseuds/Living_On_My_Own
Summary: He knew it would never make him fully happy what he was doing, that there'd always be that emptiness when he would come home, or when his lover for the night would walk away forever. But it was just a slight relief that he could still feel a little bit of love each night. That there would always be people he could have day after day, no matter how long it would last. He was sure it would last forever.
Relationships: John Deacon/Freddie Mercury, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Kudos: 9





	Helpless In Your Arms

_3rd person's POV:_

The music was too loud, too much alcohol in his blood. He watched around while dancing drunkenly. He searched for his new 'prey', a new man to get to his bedroom of toilet stall, a new man to wash away his loneliness far too present. He didn't notice the looks of his band mate as the drug in his system buzzed him and made him practically numb. He picked the attention of the first guy that caught his eyes hungrily.

His body moved gracefully at the rhythm of the music, getting closer and closer to the other man. Eventually, their body were touching, both of them felt their arousal getting bigger by the second. Until Freddie heard his name being called. He turned his head to find the source of the sound. He found his band mates watching him, telling him they were leaving. He didn't make a big deal out of the slight pain in his chest. He said quickly goodbye and they left. His attention was now almost fully on the man he was determined to fuck.

He knew it would never make him fully happy what he was doing, that there'd always be that emptiness when he would come home, or when his lover for the night would walk away forever. But it was just a slight relief that he could still feel a little bit of love each night. That there would always be people he could have day after day, no matter how long it would last. He was sure it would last forever.

He considered it before, stopping to hook up every night. Because he was conscient that doing this was also pushing away every person hoping for something more than that, but he was persuaded that there wasn't much people that wanted him for him and not for his money or fame. So finding someone new every night was his escape, an escape from the cold, big and lonely house that waited for him to get back each night.

He took the arms of the man and brought him to the nearest empty space. His hook up didn't hesitate to shove him on the nearest wall, looking at him with lust. Their bodies were barely inches away. Both of their breathes were quick and shallow. The bigger man brought the singer in a passionate kiss. No. Not passionate at all, agressive.

"You're a dirty man, Freddie Mercury." The younger of them whispered in the other's ear.

Freddie brushed away the now tightness in his chest when his name came out of the mouth of them men almost in top of him. _Another one here for my fame,_ he thought internally. But the contact of the other man didn't bring anything to his body. He wanted to be out of this room, out of this shitty club, and sometimes he thought, out of the shit life he was living.

And every time he felt the hands of the stranger on him, he couldn't help but visualise the face of his best friend, John, or at least the one that used to be his best friend, looking at him with a disapproving face and disappointment easily found in his eyes. He knew he was disappointing his friends, and it was bringing them all away from him. And all of this because of the pain in his stupid heart.

The younger eventually got fed up at the lack of pleasure the musician was experiencing. Nothing made him feel even slight desire. He was frozen, stuck in his own head, the pain too intense to make him react to anything. The broad man pulled away with distinguishable annoyance on his face.

"Fucking useless." He spat before storming out.

_Useless_

The only word of all this that got caught in his mind. Maybe it was because he heard it far too often, maybe it was because he sometimes believed that the people saying it were right. That the only thing that he was useful for was to disappoint. And his state of drunkenness didn't help. It only increased the loudness of the thought in his head.

His got out of the empty room, he went to the bar and asked the barman a strong drink. He didn't know what he really ordered, he just knew it would be strong enough. When he finished the glass, anger consumed him and he smashed it against the counter, it exploded in an endless number of pieces. He walked away before the barman could even complain.

He walked back home with no thoughts running in his head, he could only feel the cold of the November at night temperature on his skin as he forgot his jacket in the bar. He didn't really cared about the amount of money he wasted on losing his coat. He truly didn't even think a second about it.

He told fuck off to everything bothering him in his house internally. Every empty room, every misplaced object, every single thing covered in fine dust. He went to his bedroom, removed every piece of clothing but his boxer and got in his bed. The defect of the drugs had started drifting away, and it made it all worse. An headache accompanying the hurt of his heart, he fell asleep.

The next days of the following week, and a few other weeks after were the same. Every time he tried having sex only to make his living easier, John's face appeared and made everyone run away after only a few minutes of trying to make him hard. It always ended with a hard slap on his face, sometimes physical, sometimes mental.

He hadn't reached his breaking point, his 'I can't do this anymore' point. He hoped he would never get to it, but he could feel it getting closer each day. The drugs and alcohol weren't enough anymore to make him feel better, they now often made him feel even worse. But he still took them, thinking it would be okay, they would make him feel good one day.

One night, the whole band decided to go to a club, to get a drink or two after their hard working day. Freddie's three friends noticed that there was something wrong. Each night, they worried about him getting out, leaving to get laid, or at least that's what they thought he did. Their friend was getting snappier each day, the arguments were never ending on a good note when it involved him. He didn't seem to be happy working, singing, playing the piano. There was obviously something bothering him that kept him from loving what he was doing.

They watched him order too much alcohol. They initially thought he was ordering for the four of them, but they quickly realised, when the singer didn't give any, that it was only meant for himself. They saw going to the toilet for a few minutes, getting back with white powder still present on his nose and his pupils huge. The looked at him while he danced without any balance, almost knocking over much bigger men than him.

As the night quickly turned into the morning, Freddie began getting drunker and drunker. The drug was now at its most effect. He was dancing very closely to an other man. He could have been twice Freddie's size. The singer didn't care. He liked men bigger than him, but it always came with bad things. His chance to defend himself was low and they made sure to take advantage of it.

John decided it was too much when he noticed that his best friend almost fell because of the amount of alcohol in his body. He walked toward him and lightly tapped his shoulder to get his attention. The singer turned around, much to the disapproval of his hook up.

"John! What brings you to me?" Freddie asked slurring his words.

"You should go back home, Freddie. You're wasted, you need to calm down a bit." The bassist explained.

"But I'm having so much fun, Johnny!" The older protested with a high whine.

But the pained smile he showed John told the younger otherwise. He wasn't truly having any fun, but he didn't want to go home. He didn't want to go to his house and be lonely, again. So he pretended he liked being there, at least there were people to keep him company.

"We have work later, we don't want you to be late. Go home, Freddie, you're clearly exhausted."

The stranger beside Freddie took the singer's arm tightly in his gigantic hands, trying to convince him to stay. The musician looked at the man and then shot a subtle worried look to John. He looked so tiny, like caught in the arms of someone he didn't know.

"Come on, were gonna have fun." The man whispered in his ear.

But he knew they wouldn't have fun. He knew how it would turn out. He'd get rejected, he wouldn't get anything out of this. No matter how much his body hurt, how much he knew it wouldn't do him any good, his mind kept reminding him of his house, his empty house. Because lonely is so lonely, alone.

He let the bigger man bring him closer to his body harshly. His fingers were digging in his skin. He was holding him firmly and John didn't like it at all. He hold out his hand to his friend.

"Please Freddie, do it for me at least." He pleaded.

Freddie took his hand and pushed away the other man. He smiled slightly at his friend and mouthed a thank you. They walked away quickly. They didn't spot Brian or Roger so they assumed they went back home. They walked to Johns car and went in it. John drove because Freddie was drunk, and even if he wasn't, he was a bad driver.

Unfortunately, the older man felt his chest tighten when they approached eventually his house. As they parked in front of it, he didn't get out. He looked down at his hands, fiddling with his T-shirt. The silence was uncomfortable, the other man not knowing if he should tell his friend to get out and get home or if he should help him get inside.

"Can you sleep at my house tonight, John?"

John looked at Freddie with slightly widened eyes. His mouth opened.

"I've got to come back home, Veronica will wonder where I am." He explained.

The older nodded with disappointment.

"Then, can I sleep at your house?" He asked, hopeful.

"I'm sorry, Freddie, I dot want Veronica to be mad at me for bringing you without telling her. We're already not in so good terms these last days, I don't want to make things worse." The younger explained shamefully.

"Okay."

The door opened and Freddie got out. He waved only briefly before walking away. He didn't want his friend to notice the tears already forming in his eyes. He could feel it, he knew he had reached the breaking point. He was too tired to protest as the tears started falling and the tightness in his chest worsened. He got in his house and closed the door behind himself without saying good night, or more good morning.

He went to bed and blamed the drugs for his difficulty to fall asleep. He felt stupid, crying alone, in his king size bed in his insanely expensive bedroom, he was cold. His headache and the aching of his throat made everything harder and the amount of tears bigger. He was tired of all the shit he was getting. When he fell asleep, it was already 4 am.

He woke up a few hours, clearly already late to the studio. The headache he had was too intense, so he healed it with more alcohol. He meant only to drink a few sips, but he ended up drunk again. So he walked to the studio, with a beer in his hand. He threw it in the studio's bin after finishing to drink it up to the last drop.

"You're late, Freddie." Roger told him when he walked through the door.

"And you're drunk." Brian continued with a sigh.

Freddie smiled at them after a while.

"So, are we gonna record, or you're gonna stay staring at me all the session?" He asked.

"You can't keep this up, Freddie. You're gonna kill yourself doing what you do. You need to stop, because it's not only affecting you, but everyone around you too." John reprimanded him.

The singer looked at them one at a time, his heart beating out of his chest. A nausea passed through him, he blamed the beers he had, but deeply, he knew it was the anxiety bubbling up. He didn't like it, so he did what he was the best at, blaming everybody else than himself.

"Why would you guys even care? As long as it doesn't affect you, everything's fine. You don't have to take care of me, at night you come back to your families and I'm gone from all of your heads. I'd be lying dead and you'd be worried about the impact it would have on the album." Brian scoffed and a few rolls of eyes were seen. "You don't care about me, you only care about yourself, about your own happiness. Because if I wasn't having alcohol in this studio and I would be doing this at home or in a club, nobody would protest. If it's the last that makes me happy, won't you let me be? Care about your family, care about the people you love. And leave me the fuck alone." The singer angrily snapped.

He stormed out to the nearest toilet and locked the door behind himself. He walked back and forth in the little room, holding his again aching head in his hands. His chest burned from the tears that wanted to come, but he didn't let them. He wouldn't cry again, he wasn't a fucking baby. He knew he had fucked up, if he wanted his friends to care about him, it was too late for that. He refused any kind of help.

There was knock on the door.

"What?!" The singer snapped, but it was all the alcohol acting. He needed to stop acting like he was the best out of all of them.

Because he was worse than anyone.

"Open the door, Fred." John said.

"Don't call me Fred. And fuck off."

He was mad at himself for being so stupid everyday. He was mad at John for not understanding and letting him stay to his house earlier. He was mad at his bandmates for acting like they have a shit about his life. He was mad at the world for not understanding what he was trying so hard to explain, but it always came out wrong.

"Can't you just accept the help of others?" The younger sighed.

"But none of you understand, John." He growled, already starting to get angry again.

"Yes, we do understand, Freddie. And we do care. That's all I want, Freddie. I just want to you to be happy, no matter what. And if- I don't know, quitting the band and doing something else of your life would make you happy, then go for it and I'll be happy to help. Frankly, I don't care about the band if you're not happy. And I know you, I know that it doesn't make you happy, that drinking and taking drugs every night to fuck someone doesn't make you happy. You haven't been yourself. So, please, stop Freddie. And if not for you, dot it for me. Because I hate to see you like this, drunk all day long and high at night." The bassist said through the door.

The pianist slid down to sit on the cold floor. He tried to not cry, but it was useless. The tears freely fell down his red face, both from previous anger and sadness. His chest loosened, the words of his friend had made him feel slightly better.

"I'm so sorry, John. I'm such an asshole." He muttered loud enough for the other man to hear.

"It's okay Freddie. I know it can get too much sometimes. And I know your heart, and you have one of gold. No one blames you, okay?" The man answered.

The singer got up and opened the door now unlocked. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around his best friend. No one had ever been so kind to him and he could never be thankful enough for it. The younger gadfly accepted the embrace and let the older put his head on his shoulder. He was glad he was able to make him feel better. Everything would be okay.

_Two months later_

The music was just loud enough to feel it vibrating through their bodies. They only had a drink or two, no drugs. The club was excessively busy. It was all their favorite. The Persian made his way in the crowd, he was sweating profusely because of the amount of people and the lights insanely intense. He was trying to find someone, someone to get in his bed tonight.

He spotted someone, he was slightly taller than himself. His skin was porcelaine, only ever so slightly pink. He had the prettiest hair, all puffy and soft. His eyes green, almost grey. He was dancing, not caring about anything else than the music and his movement. He didn't notice the other man approaching him.

When the hands of the singer found the waist of the other, they looked in each other's eyes. The younger had slight wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. They only formed when he was smiling. And right now, he couldn't stop smiling. They got closer to each other, one teasing the other with his body, and vice versa.

They kissed lightly, knowing exactly what to do with their mouth as they knew each other so well. Their hands wandered anywhere where they wanted them to wander. They only wanted a soft song to start so they could be even closer and act as they romantic as they wanted. But they knew that in the club they were, they would never hear a calm song.

"I love you, Freddie." One of them whispered close to Freddie's ear so he could hear him over the deafening music.

They had nothing to worry about. No other girlfriend they used to deal with, no kids to take care of, no empty house to get back to. It was only them, together. And it would be forever. They could stay there as long as they wanted, without anything else to think about, to drift them away from their lover.

"I love you too, John."

And they danced together until the next day arrived. They got home together, they got in the same bed, this time deciding to only cuddle. They only wore their boxers, not scared of being cold as had each other to be warm. The younger took the other in his arms. They drifted away to sleep, happier than they had ever been.


End file.
